


You and Me Make Us

by JackyJango



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27630790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyJango/pseuds/JackyJango
Summary: A compilation of headcanons I have for Charles' and Erik's relationship OR slices of their life in my eyes1. Nightmares2. Dreams3. Holding Hands*New*4. Joy
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 57





	1. Nightmares

Thanks to their violent pasts, both Charles and Erik have their share of nightmares; the nature of which are widely different. 

Erik trashes physically in bed whenever he has a nightmare. He almost stops sleeping next to Charles in a fear of hurting him, but Charles won't have any of it. ‘It’s my decision to make, Erik, and I can very well handle myself,’ he protests. But Charles does more than  _ handle _ . He collects Erik to his chest when he begins to trash in the throes of a nightmare and projects  _ calm.  _ ‘It's alright, darling. I've got you,’ he murmurs repeatedly into Erik's temple until he calms and falls back to sleep.

‘You remind me of my mother sometimes,’ Erik tells Charles one day without preamble over a chess board. Erik isn't looking at him, uncharacteristically so. Charles peeks into Erik's mind to understand the context to find a memory running in the foreground of his thoughts; one where Erik's mother is rocking a frightened Erik-- who's no more than six years-- against her chest, whispering,  _ ‘Alles ist gut, mein schatz. alles ist gut _ .’ If Charles weren't a telepath, he's sure he would have missed it.

'I love you, too, darling,’ Charles says in lieu of a response and Erik grunts in reply.

Charles doesn't toss and turn in his bed when in the throes of a nightmare. He doesn't scream or shout like Erik does. But Erik always knows when Charles is having one, because instead of Shaw or one of his lackeys, he dreams of a cruel man with a belt in his hand and a snarl on his lips, and of a bigoted boy laughing at him from the head of the stairs. Charles projects in his sleep.

Anger towards Charles’ step-father and step-brother comes naturally to Erik, but he wills the anger away, replaces it with love, draws Charles’ mind into his until Charles’ conscious is submerged in a feeling of:  _ safe, home.  _ And just like that, Charles falls back to sleep.

-


	2. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone said: Who wakes the other up in the middle of the night to tell them a cool dream they had?

Because Charles is all sunshine and ocean breeze and holiday cheer and all the chirpy things Erik can think of at even two-fucking-o'clock in the morning when Charles wakes Erik up to tell him animatedly about a dream he had where they both were dragon riders.    


Erik wants to snap at him and tell him to go back to sleep. But Charles looks dangerously adorable- round cheeks flushed with excitement, blue eyes bright, sleep-tousled hair falling over his forehead and hands gesturing wildly. So he mauls Charles into the sheets and kisses him senseless instead.

-


	3. Holding Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on Tumblr [Here](https://jackyjango.tumblr.com/post/625258274918465536/holding-hands)

Charles. It's always Charles. Damnably so. It's always Charles who'll slip past all the guards of the heavily-secured fort Erik has built around himself.

Erik is not a physical person. Bar sex, he hates anyone else in his personal space, touches, even more so. He doesn't need a comforting hug or a reassuring kiss. You usually don't when you're a war-machine.

But Charles does, and he craves physical contact. The fact that he's an innate romantic on top of it doesn't help. 

It's only been a couple of weeks since they've met and two only two since they've started fucking. It's a bright morning and everyone is up and cheery despite the early hour, gathered around the dining table and chatting excitedly whilst nibbling on their breakfast. Erik finishes the last piece of his toast. He's dusting his sweatpants off the bread crumbs when a gentle touch on his arm pulls his attention. It's Charles-- who's sitting to Erik's right and sipping tea with one hand. His other hand glides down to Erik's palm under the table and interlocks their fingers together. Charles’ movements are hesitant, and the shy smile he casts Erik's way is at odds with how unabashed he had been in bed the previous night. That's probably the only reason why Erik doesn't tug his hand away. That and the fact that he doesn't need the use of his hands to scoop scrambled eggs from his plate. The fork is metal, after all.

Erik had thought that it was a one time occurrence. He hadn't had a clue at the time as to how wrong he was. If anything, it only intensifies. Charles seeks out his hands at all times- to pull Erik and show him something, or invite him tantalisingly to bed or to intertwine his fingers with Erik’s under the dining table in the kitchen. If someone notices that Erik has suddenly switched to eating with his left hand, well, they don't mention it.

Erik huffs out one morning when he wakes up to find ink stains on the back of his hands. He looks down to Charles’ ink-stained fingertips and kisses them gently. Charles doesn't stir from his sleep.

Holding Charles’ hand is not an unpleasant feeling. No. Oddly, Charles' soft and small-- and surprisingly strong-- hands fit perfectly into Erik's larger ones-- like pieces of a puzzle slotting together.

They're overlooking the mansion grounds standing side by side from a nearby hillock one evening when Charles gently slides his palms into Erik's and interlocks their fingers.

‘It's not so bad, is it?’ Charles asks. 

He may be speaking about the mansion and the small group of mis-fits they've shaped and groomed in the past month, or of everything they’ve achieved with Cerebro, but Erik only looks at Charles-- face bathed in the golden light of dusk and brown locks swaying in the gentle breeze-- and down to their entwined hands.

'No, it isn't,’ Erik agrees. The small smile that takes shape on his lips is quite inevitable.

-


	4. Joy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on Tumblr [Here](https://jackyjango.tumblr.com/post/636944032143179776/joy)

‘How does this look, darling?’ Charles asks, emerging from the veil of velvet curtains, a dopey smile stretched across his lips. 

Erik sets the magazine he’d been browsing aside and rakes his eyes over Charles’ form. The cardigan he has donned isn't any different from the one he’d tried prior to this; or any of the thirty-six other cardigans Charles already owns. 

Frankly, Erik doesn’t understand Charles’ obsession with cardigans, or why he insists on buying a pair whenever they take a trip to town despite owning several pairs, or why he insists on buying it from a boutique that has marble for flooring and velvets for drapes and costs equivalent of four sweaters that one could buy from an ordinary shop. It’s just a waste of money. 

Erik, however, doesn’t have the heart to voice his complaints in the face of Charles’ expectant smile. The blue of the cardigan on his person now is a shade lighter than what Charles generally prefers but Erik can’t deny that it still looks good on him. Call him biased, but anything looks good on Charles. 

‘It looks good,’ he says, getting up from the plush cushions of the sofa, ‘Are you buying this one, or do you want to try a few more?’

Charles smooths his hands down over the thick wool of the cardigan fondly and declares with a giddy smile, ‘I think I’ll keep this one.’

They pay for their purchase-- and Erik can’t help wince at the price tag-- and Charles bids farewell to the owner of the shop who he claims is a friend. 

‘Are you sure you didn’t want anything from the boutique?’ Charles asks-- again-- as they head back to the car. ‘The maroon shirt by the window would have looked great-’

‘No,’ Erik cuts him short and opens the passenger door for Charles. ‘I have everything I need.’

*

Two nights later, Erik finds Charles in his study polishing a barrel of sleek metal with a satin cloth. 

‘Erik!’ Charles beams brightly when he spots him by the door. ‘Right on time, my friend,’ he says as he rushes to drag Erik by the arm to the table. ‘I’ve been meaning to show you this for quite sometime now.’

Spread out on the table are six boxed metal trays, housing an array of various kinds of pens. They’re arranged in parallel rows in the grooves dug out in the velvet cushioning them. 

‘This,’ Charles says with a proud smile, ‘is my pen collection. Here-’ Charles picks out a pen from the nearest tray, ‘-this pen is handcrafted out of aircraft grade alluminium. And this one here-’ he points to another pen two rows below the first- ‘is made from titanium, I’ve been told.’

And so Charles explains the metal profile of several other pens in the collection, no doubt aimed to appeal to Erik’s powers. And appeal to his powers, they do. Erik can’t deny that the metals most of the pens are made up of are exquisite. The titanium is pure, the alluminium unadulterated and the iron of the inner springs rust free (They’re no doubt well curated and cared for). He even spots a few pens which are plated in silver and embossed in gold. One or two even have diamonds on them. They scream opulence, affluence and wealth.

‘So,’ Charles asks, drawing in a deep breath, and looking up at him owlishly, ‘What do you think?’

Charles may be as wealthy as they come, but Erik knows that he doesn’t overindulge in his riches (That is, if you discount the times he prefers a high-end boutique to purchase his clothes, or the premium brand of tea he prefers-- a tin of which costs more than Erik’s monthly expenditures-- or the occasional hand made soap or aromatic shampoo he splurges on). Charles doesn’t bat an eye at the array of cars packed into the garage below the mansion. He doesn’t fuss over the splendour of the Mansion or its contents. He even wears a ratty pair of shoes and a watch that doesn’t tell the time. Erik knows that Charles is self-aware and responsible with the privilege he’s born into, but all he can think of when he looks at the display in front of him is that it’s just a waste of money; a meaningless extravagance. How many pens could one want at once? Surely, not more than one.

Charles’ smile falls a notch or two as he catches onto Erik’s thoughts. He turns away from Erik and carefully begins placing the pens he’d pulled out in their assigned slots. His disappointment could very well be a physical pain in Erik’s chest.

Erik stands still at his side unsure of what to do or what to say. Though he can’t retract his thoughts, or apologise for thinking them, he wants to say something, do something that’ll bring back the smile on Charles’ face in full force.

But before Erik could do or say anything, Charles says in a small voice, ‘My father loved collecting pens.’ He still doesn’t look at Erik. ‘It’s his collection that I expanded upon. I used to spend my Saturday afternoons huddled up in his study polishing these pens or arranging his bookshelf while my father read to me.’ Charles smiles ruefully and something twists in Erik’s chest. He trails his fingertips over the ink barrels fondly and continues in a voice so small that Erik has to strain his ears to listen to Charles. ‘I don’t need them, true, but they remind me of him. They make me happy.’

That night Erik recounts Charles’ words, wondering what it’s like to own something just for the sake of it; just because it brings him joy. Erik doesn’t own things that don’t serve him a purpose. He can count on the fingers of one hand the items of clothing in his possession-- two pairs of trousers, two turtlenecks, two shirts, a suit, a pair of boots and a leather jacket to be precise. He doesn’t own anything else because he doesn’t  _ need  _ anything else. He can’t wrap his head around holding on to something because it makes him happy or brings him joy. 

But then he looks down at Charles, who’s sleeping on Erik’s chest-- pink lips parted and breathing softly--and it hits Erik right in the gut.

He puts up with Charles’ naïve ideologies, his ideas of peace and harmony, and his bratty bunch of children and still seeks out Charles after everything because Charles makes him happy; because he brings him  _ joy _ . The notion should unsettle Erik, irk him to no ends. But it doesn’t. Instead it brings him something very close to peace.

Erik holds onto Charles a little tighter, kisses his temple and falls into a blissful sleep.

*

Erik rounds in on Charles just as he’s about to sneak in an armful of chocolates into the shopping cart. They’re the kind which are loaded with sugars and calories. It’s not the kind of nutrition which the body needs (and especially not Sean’s body, because the kid is as scrawny as a dried twig). A concept which seems to evade Charles completely.

‘Really?’ Erik asks, unimpressed.

Charles just looks at him guiltily, chewing on his bottom lip and blinking his blue eyes owlishly.  _ Please _ , he says mentally.

Erik suppresses a smile that bubbles up his chest and says as sternly as he can, ‘Fine. If it makes you happy.’

Charles drops the chocolates into the cart, and rushes to peck Erik once on the cheek. ‘Thank you, my love.’ he beams giddily, flooding Erik’s mind with waves of affection. ‘They do make me happy. And so do you.’

With that, Charles wanders off to the next aisle, no doubt to drag in another load of chocolates for the whole house while Erik stays rooted to the spot, a small smile fighting its way onto his face.

And that smile increases by folds when back at the mansion, Charles pulls him in with sticky hands and kisses him with chocolate smeared lips.

-

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you thought!  
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Also, [JackyJango](https://jackyjango.tumblr.com) on Tumblr! :D


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